Star Party

Standard

“Hey boss?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I leave about 20 minutes early?  I have to be downtown by six.”

“Have fun partying.”

“I’m going to an astronomy lecture at the museum, actually.”

Cut to three hours later, I’m drinking bourbon out of my purse and stage whispering to my buddy Yost that I’m totally turned on by the Hubble Telescope, and I recall laughingly that little hint of indignation that crept into that last sentence.

My boss knows me too well, I guess.  Everything turns into a party.

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